


I see through you

by tgtchm



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Big Tall and Angry Small, Episode Related, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 23:03:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12518596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tgtchm/pseuds/tgtchm
Summary: The battle of the sizes, featuring Jeremy, Richard, a Lotus Exige, and a monster truck...





	I see through you

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally published on the 15th November 2015 (by me under a different username) and I'm reuploading it now as a process of moving my works from one account to the other. it's been edited for punctuation errors but nothing else.
> 
> this one was written for my beta Dani, and if I recall correctly her only prompt was to 'make it funny'. shout out to her cuz she's still here 2 years later beta-ing the stuff that falls out of my head, although god only knows why. without her I wouldn't have started writing for TG/GT in the first place, so thanks bb <3

“Morning, Hammond,” Jeremy calls as Richard walks in the portakabin.

“Jeremy,” Richard replies, hanging up his coat and heading straight for the kettle. “James here today?”

Jeremy—surprisingly nimble, despite his size—leaps up from the sofa and comes up behind him, sliding his hands around Richard’s waist to rest on his stomach, fingers dipping tantalisingly low, past the waistband of his trousers. “No, it’s just us.”

“Get off me, you bloody oaf!” Richard yelps, elbowing Jeremy, who leaps away, laughing. “Can’t you keep it in your trousers for more than two seconds?”

Jeremy flops back down on the sofa, pouting dramatically. “Sorry,” he mutters, picking at a loose thread, sounding not very sorry at all.

Ignoring him, Richard pours himself a cup of lukewarm coffee, swallowing it quickly. He eyes Jeremy on the sofa, long legs tucked up underneath him, and tries to tamp down his lust. This’d just started as a bit of fun one day, when Jeremy had cornered him in the portakabin before filming and had kissed him long and furiously, wedging a thigh between Richard’s legs, leaving him gasping and achingly hard. Richard had asked why, but Jeremy hadn’t had an answer, and they’d continued this… thing, not talking about it, since. He has no idea if Jeremy is just desperate for a shag, or has genuine feelings for him, and he doesn’t really care—especially not when Jeremy can do that thing with his mouth.

He finishes his coffee and sits next to Jeremy on the sofa, stretching his legs across Jeremy’s lap, ignoring the way Jeremy looks at him with eyes full of lust, the way his skin feels prickly underneath Jeremy’s gaze, the way he’s starting to harden in his jeans. “What’ve you got on today?”

“Lotus,” Jeremy sighs. “Exige. And a great big fucking helicopter.”

Richard perks up at that. “Helicopter? What kind?”

“Apache.” Jeremy grins, hand skittering up Richard’s leg.

“Really? Is it here now?” he asks, sitting up and peering out the window to see if he can see it. “I wanna have a look. Can I have a go?”

Jeremy just laughs, placing his hands on Richard’s shoulders and pushing him back down on the sofa, hovering above him. Not for the first time, Richard is aware of just how big Jeremy is, not just in height; something about his attitude gives off this atmosphere of confidence, making him seem larger than life. “You are such a _child_ sometimes, Richard, honestly.”

“Okay, fine. But have I told you my joke about Lotus?”

Smirking, Jeremy trails his hand down Richard’s collar bone, brushing past his ribs, hovering at the bottom of his t-shirt. “Lots of trouble, usually serious?”

“No, you have to—” He can’t finish his sentence because Jeremy, apparently tired of waiting, closes the distance between them, kissing him hard and fast and furious, his hands tugging up Richard’s shirt now.

Giving in to the kiss—what Jeremy wants, he gets—he scrabbles with Jeremy’s shirt, pulling it up, suddenly desperate to feel them skin to skin, wanting the closeness, the pure physicality that is so very Jeremy. Never mind that they’re on the sofa in the dingy little portakabin, never mind that someone could walk in and spot them, all he needs is Jeremy, drinking him in like this.

***

“How the fuck am I meant to fit in that?” Jeremy says, staring at the Lotus, cigarette between his fingers. “It comes up to my _knee_.”

As it turns out, Richard didn’t need to be at Dunsfold today—Jeremy had just lied and told him that he was filming something today, when he wasn’t at all, all in the hopes of getting a shag. But he’s sticking around for the shitshow that is Jeremy getting in the Lotus: it’s sure to be entertaining.

“Like this!” he sing songs, striding up to the car and sliding in easily.

Jeremy sighs, fag between his lips as he mumbles. “Yes, alright, but you’re not a real human being, are you, Richard?” And he winks, so quickly that it could have been a trick of the light, setting his heart aflutter.

Right. Waiting for Jeremy to turn away—which he does, to talk to Iain about setting up some shots—he quickly slides the seat as far forward as it can go, before getting out of the car, albeit a bit more ungainly than how he got in.

“All yours, mate,” he says, slapping Jeremy on the back as he goes. “Although I never did get to finish my Lotus joke.”

“Fine.” Jeremy turns to him with a sigh, but there’s genuine affection in his gaze, and it makes Richard blink with surprise. “What is it?”

“You have to do the lotus position to even get in the bloody thing,” he finishes, stuffing his hands in his pockets, winking at Jeremy cheerfully.

***

“I genuinely don’t know how I’m going to get into this,” Jeremy says to the camera, sticking one leg in the car, his upper half leaning out precariously. Brilliantly, no one, not even Jeremy, has noticed the seat being so far forward. Yet.

“Oh, for—how the hell?” Jeremy mutters, clutching onto the car roof desperately, hanging half in and half out of the car, face panicked as he slips.

Richard, standing off to the side, has to hold in his laughter lest he ruin the shot—and this is so bloody priceless he can’t let it be spoiled by his cackling in the background. But by god, the sight of Jeremy, long legs akimbo, feet kicking wildly as he crawls into the car headfirst, has him clutching a hand to his mouth, stifling giggles. After several attempts, Jeremy finally realises the seat was forward, and moves it back—although he still has to get into the car on his hands and knees on the tarmac. He can’t shoot daggers at Richard offscreen, but it doesn’t matter, because he can feel the rage emanating from the other man, all aimed directly at him.

***

After the stunt he’d pulled, Jeremy had tracked him down and shoved him against the wall of the portakabin playfully, growling as he came for him. “You fucking bastard.”

Richard had just grinned. “I bet Andy'll keep that in the final footage.”

“He better not, not if he wants to keep his head,” Jeremy muttered darkly, pulling Richard to him and kissing him roughly. “But don’t worry, Hamster, I’ll get revenge.”

It’d been a week, and the aforementioned revenge had not come, so he’d relaxed a little, even inviting Jeremy round to his place—something that hadn’t happened before. It was nice, especially when he’d woken up the next morning with Jeremy in the bed next to him: that was something he could get used to. He didn’t want to admit to anyone—certainly not Jeremy, and least of all himself—that he was starting to have feelings for Jeremy. Real, proper feelings, not just lustful stirrings.

“Morning, Clarkson,” he greets Jeremy cheerily, stepping into the portakabin one morning. “No James?”

Jeremy looks up from where he is reading the paper on the sofa and smiles. “No, just us, again, and I promise you are filming today.”

“Right,” he says, rubbing his hands together, reaching for the kettle. “What am I driving?”

He usually knows beforehand, of course, but this time, Andy had rung to tell him to head out to Dunsfold unexpectedly, as he had a surprise in store. He had thought it was a challenge, or some other item on the schedule that he’d forgotten about (it had happened before), so when he had turned up to see only Jeremy’s Mercedes in the parking lot, his interest had been piqued.

“Well, as it turns out, Andy and I came up with a great idea for a segment on short notice.” Jeremy begins, looking over his reading glasses at Richard, looking bookish and, oddly, rather sexy. “A nun, in a monster truck.”

“Right,” Richard replies, mug in hand, a little lost. “And I suppose you’re going to dress me up in drag and call me a nun?”

Jeremy smirks. “Oh, no, no. We have a real genuine nun for that. But we do need someone to test drive the truck beforehand, make sure it’s all working properly. And who better to do it than someone who needs a stepladder to get into a normal car?”

He slams the mug down on the counter. “You—you—you fucking twat,” he finishes, mouth agape.

Jeremy shrugs, taking off his reading glasses and folding them neatly away. “I did warn you I’d get revenge, Hammond. You should have paid attention.”

With a roar, Richard crosses the room, leaping onto the sofa on top of Jeremy. He’s only a little bit mad—he will inevitably have to wear a race suit, and he hates those things—but he’s more in awe of the genius of Jeremy’s plan. He’ll have to climb into the thing, and no doubt Jeremy will make life difficult for him, and make sure personally it gets inserted into the final film—

His train of thought is derailed by the feeling of Jeremy, rock hard underneath his thighs, breathing heavily, pupils dilated and mouth parted slightly. With a gasp he leans down to grab Jeremy by the shirt collar and kiss him unashamedly, rocking his hips as he does so, feeling Jeremy bow up underneath him, grinding his hips down in response.

“You are so infuriating,” he mutters, but his next words are drowned out by Jeremy moaning underneath him as he slips his hand between them and palms Jeremy’s cock through his jeans. He loves watching Jeremy writhe and moan for him, loves seeing him come completely and totally undone.

***

“Right,” Richard says dubiously, looking up at the monster truck, standing still and defiant in front of him.

He’s never seen something quite so _big_ before. The tyres alone are nearly as tall as him, and the cabin seems impossibly high above his head. One thousand, seven hundred horsepower, all on wheels the size of skyscrapers—if he isn’t very, very careful, he could tip the thing. He turns to Jeremy hesitantly, who nods happily.

“I think I’m going to get altitude sickness,” he deadpans into the camera, before turning back to the truck and placing his hand on one of the struts to climb up—

And immediately his hand slips. He tries again, this time hoisting up a leg onto one of the huge tyres, using it as a springboard of sorts—but his hand just slips again and he falls down on his arse, blinking heavily. Off to the side, Jeremy is covering his mouth to try and stifle his laughter, and he knows what’s happened—he would have covered the struts in butter, or something equally as slippery.

Right. He’s not going to be stopped by a little butter, that’s for sure. Picking himself up, he jumps, grabbing one of the struts above his head and clinging on for dear life. The only problem is it’s angled downwards so he slips and slides, ending up pressed flat against the wheel, dangling helplessly. Over his shoulder he can just work out Jeremy, who is now rolling around on the tarmac, laughing silently.

“You fucking arsehole,” he shouts back over his shoulder, forgetting he’s on camera for a moment. “I’m fucking stuck.”

Jeremy, who is still laughing, not bothering to hide it now, starts crawling towards him on his hands and knees, and the sight of that is too much and Richard starts laughing, too, throwing his head back. The situation is so utterly ridiculous—him, dangling helplessly from a monster truck, Jeremy crawling towards him—that he can’t quite believe it’s real life, and that he’s getting paid to do it.

Jeremy reaches him and shoves him, rather helpfully, upwards, allowing him to to grab the lip of the cabin and pull himself up, ignoring Jeremy’s hands lingering on his arse for a bit too long. That, combined with the swearing, makes him confident this will be cut from the final film, but that doesn’t stop him hamming it up from the camera as he crawls inside, dragging his feet inside slowly and grinning for the minicam as he finally finds his seat.

***

“I will have to concede defeat there, Clarkson,” Richard mumbles as he tugs off his helmet, observing that the cameras have disappeared.

“It was good, wasn't it?” Jeremy grins, stepping closer and tugging at the zipper of his race suit. “How are you going to beat that?”

Richard slaps away Jeremy’s hands, frowning at him. “We’re in public, you twat. Watch yourself.”

Jeremy smirks, but obeys, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “So, shall I have to look over my shoulder from now on? Do you have any ideas?”

Richard starts towards the portakabin, dying for a cup of tea, and considers. Right now he just wants to go home and crawl into bed and sleep, not come up with a revenge plan to humiliate Jeremy. Besides, there’s nothing really he can do—this is the last filming day for the series. All that’s left now is the studio days, and he doesn’t dare do anything in front of James. As he walks, he realises Jeremy is looking at him with that same, odd expression again—full of fondness and affection.

“Alright. Take me out to dinner,” he blurts out, stopping in his tracks at the grass by the side of the runway.

“What?” Jeremy asks, turning. “You mean—a date?”

That’s exactly what he means, he realises, too late. As much as he loves this, as much as he loves Jeremy accosting him in the portakabin, pushing him up against walls and shoving his hands down Richard’s trousers, he wants more. He wants Jeremy all the time, not just a quick shag; he wants to wake up next to him. The thought both thrills and scares him.

“Yes,” he replies, staring at the grass, unable to look up. Perhaps he’s got this all wrong, perhaps Jeremy doesn’t feel the same way, in which case he’ll have to go home and bury himself under the duvet and never come out.

When he does get the courage to look up, Jeremy is smiling softly at him, projecting such tenderness and passion that he inadvertently takes a step back. Jeremy follows him, though, caressing his face gently, leaning down to kiss Richard chastely, thumb stroking his cheekbone.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Jeremy says with a grin.


End file.
